


Under

by wingsofbadass



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Introspection, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Some spicy Fjord/Avantika at the beginning, spoilers for ep 40
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 02:00:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16630709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsofbadass/pseuds/wingsofbadass
Summary: Fjord is drowning.He’s alone in the deep, his hands floating uselessly. The heavy dark is everywhere around him, taking his breath away and invading his lungs. Far away in a direction that might be up or down, a light blue of surface beckons, promises precious air and clarity. But he blinks, and it’s gone.





	Under

**Author's Note:**

> Critical Role has taken over my life and it was only a matter of time until I started writing about these characters. This just kind of flowed out of me like water from Jester's fingertips ;)

Fjord is drowning.

He’s alone in the deep, his hands floating uselessly. The heavy dark is everywhere around him, taking his breath away and invading his lungs. Far away in a direction that might be up or down, a light blue of surface beckons, promises precious air and clarity. But he blinks, and it’s gone.

Above him, Avantika’s intense eyes hold his and he wishes he could look away, if only it didn’t feel like losing somehow, losing at a game he doesn’t even know the rules of. Wild hair writhes around her face with every thrust of her hips as she seeks her pleasure from his body. She’s gorgeous and dangerous in a way that shouldn’t make Fjord as hard as he is, but he prefers not to think about that. Nails dig into his chest and he relishes the sting, tightens his own hold on her hips to pull her onto him harder.

He couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. And he probably should want to.

A reckless moan flies from Avantika’s lips and with her head tipped back, the softness of her throat is exposed. Fjord doesn’t know what brings on the urge, but he pushes up to bite into the side of her neck. He feels her tighten around his cock, she moans again, and it’s a little victory that has a familiar heat bloom in Fjord’s gut. Clutching at each other, they each chase their own high until the turbulent waves of pleasure break and the tension finally releases.

Fjord stays, because it feels like it must be a rule, and kisses her because it’s easier than trying to sort through his muddled thoughts for whatever words might be the right ones. If there’s one thing he does understand about this game, it’s that he can’t afford any wrongs. Every interaction must be carefully crafted, an artistry that has been taking everything out of him. The physicality of sex has been a relief, in many ways.

Hoping to leave while Avantika sleeps has been in vain. Ever watchful, the captain doesn’t grant him that reprieve from the constructing, from the constant acting. With sweat cold and uncomfortable on his skin, he gets dressed and leaves behind the poised figure of Avantika, always ready to strike.

He takes a deep breath outside her door and makes his way to his own quarters. At this time of night, it is quiet aboard the Squall-Eater. The silence seems somewhat oppressive now, when Fjord would rather have the chatter of a crew to drown out his brain. The post-coital calm didn’t last nearly long enough, and he can already feel restlessness beginning to crawl under his skin once more. His boots thud along the wooden floor, so loud it makes him want to cringe.

Caduceus doesn’t stir when Fjord enters their shared room, but he must’ve woken for sure. Since the first night he came sneaking in, Caduceus hasn’t said anything else about it, but he can feel the too knowing gaze on his back as he steps up to the wash tray in the corner. Still, the desire to wash himself is stronger than his shame, so he peels out of his clothes once more and attempts to rid his skin of the traces of his so-called bad decisions.

Dressed in soft clothes, he lies in bed and hopes for sleep to take him soon. But his brain seems determined to bombard him with all the things he’d rather not contemplate. He doesn’t want to think about what he’s doing with Avantika, or the threatening presence of Uk’otoa he can’t seem to escape, or the ache in his chest that is Vandren, but he’s entangled in the net they’ve formed around him and no matter how he thrashes, he just keeps getting caught up in it even more.

Fjord is drowning.

He remembers the agony in his lungs and the panic in his heart from when he’d gone overboard and thought he’d never see the sun again. It doesn’t feel much different now, even as he’s lying in a semi-comfortable bed that rocks gently with the waves. Eyes wide open in the dark, Fjord once more wishes for it to just be over, for unconsciousness to take him and only spit him out again when he’s ready. If he could, he would give his last breath again just to be rid of his thoughts.

Inexplicable warmth rises to his cheeks as he remembers Jester. The fear in her eyes. The softness of her cheeks against his palms. And the ease of giving his all to her.

Turning to Jester is becoming a reflex in him he isn’t sure how to decipher. He knew everything would be alright if only he could make sure she was fine, and so he gave his breath and his trust. A small voice in the back of his mind whispers _his responsibilities_ , prompting him to throw back his covers and get out of bed. Without lingering to inspect the impulse, Fjord steps out into the corridor and crosses to the next door to knock softly.

Just when he’s about to return to his bed and chastise himself for his idiocy, the door opens a crack.

Sleepy blue blinks at him, and a lightness fills his chest at the sight.

“Fjord?” Her voice is a gentleness he does not deserve.

“I – I’m sorry for waking you, Jester,” he whispers, looking up and down the corridor as though someone might catch him at any second.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay,” Jester waves his concern away. “Is something wrong?”

Just everything. “No, no. I was just wondering if,” the words feel stupid suddenly, but they’re already falling from his lips, “we could talk.”

Surprise colors Jester’s cheeks a darker blue, and she shifts for a moment, before opening the door wider to let him enter. Beau is asleep in the bunk to the right; there is no trace of Yasha. He catches a glimpse of Jester’s frilly nightgown in the light from the corridor, but then she closes the door behind him. In the darkness, Jester grabs his wrist, her fingers small and delicate, and tugs him along to her bed.

It should feel weird or uncomfortable, maybe, but it doesn’t. Jester lies down on her side and he lies facing her, even though he can no longer make out her features. She draws the blanket over them with a conspiratorial giggle that makes him smile despite himself. He feels like a child again, at a sleep-over with a friend.

“Are you okay?” Jester asks, voice barely more than a breath.

He doesn’t know how to answer that. Lying to Jester is not something he likes to do, but then again he doesn’t want to invite too many questions about the things that are troubling him. What answer would satisfy her, but deflect away from him? Maybe if he answered with a question about her? Fjord opens his mouth to reply, then realizes what he’s doing. He’s still constructing. He’s still being _that_ Fjord.

The realization sends a pang into his chest.

“Jester,” he starts, as though saying her name might help him find back to himself. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

A tender hand lands on his upper arm, then slowly slides up his shoulder, over the side of his neck until it settles in his hair, and Fjord closes his eyes at the touch, struck silent by the warmth.

“It’s okay, neither do I,” she tells him quietly, sharing a secret. Her voice is a caress as welcome as that of her hand. “I don’t think any of us do.”

“But you’re all here for me,” Fjord murmurs into the pillow that smells like Jester, flowery and sweet. “You rely on me. Whatever I do, affects all of you.”

The tug and stroke of fingers in his hair soothes the tingling restlessness under his skin, and he breathes a deep sigh as he tries to listen for her next words.

“Yes, we’re all here for you,” she repeats, but the way she says it is different. “We’re here for you whenever you need us. We’re here to help you however we can. We’re here to be by your side. You don’t have to do it all on your own, you know?”

No words make it past the lump in Fjord’s throat. He swallows and reaches up to touch her, any part of her. His fingers find her forearm and wrap around it, holding on while she continues to stroke through his hair. It feels almost like a dream, this floating feeling of softness, of safety.

“I’m here, Fjord.”

In thanks, he squeezes her arm, and in her breath, he hears her smile.

Fjord is drowning.

He’s going under and he’s not fighting it, just letting the deep embrace him. It’s comforting to give into it, somehow. Wrapped in this feeling, he finally drifts off.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! Any kind of feedback is very much appreciated.


End file.
